Two Small Words
by Seerwood
Summary: He had believed, even when she had doubted herself. Stand alone Caryl one-shot.


**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead, or any of the characters.**

**Two Small Words**

There was a time when she lived for the future, for better days, for days when _he_ was away. Work would call him occasionally, leaving her alone with their daughter, and she had loved those times, hoping against hope that time would grant her these small precious moments alone that she cherished so much. Now it was all different, freedom had been granted to her riding on the edge of an apocalypse. And now she lived for today, for the present, and not for the future, knowing that the future now could never be possibly written as it had in the past.

Then, she had feared being touched, _his_ menacing smile, _his_ grasp on her arm, _his_ eyes full of hate and fury and victory. She had felt that there could never be an escape from it. But it had happened, and when it had, it wasn't in the way she had expected at all.

She had never dreamt that she could feel as she did now. But it had come at a price, the loss of her daughter.

She knew, he had done everything he could have possibly done. This man that she had come to love. She had never blamed him once. He had done more for her than he could possibly have known, but he had worn his guilt and failure like a blanket around his shielded heart.

He wore feathered wings on the back of his beat up leather vest, and although he would never acknowledge it, in fact he would curse, rebel and retreat within himself if he had any inkling, she had come to think of him like an angel. Albeit a dirty scruffy coarse mouthed one.

She couldn't stop the heady thrum of her heart at the thought of him, even though she chided herself many times. He had an effect on her that she didn't realise was possible. Never once had she felt this way about _him_. These new emotions had made her feel giddy, stressed, hopeful, adolescent, joyful...scared, so she had kept her thoughts and feelings to herself.

He had come back one day, battered, bruised and bleeding, and although he had brought her back a doll...ragged and dirty and stinking like hell itself, she had found her thoughts returning to him. She supposed, deep in her heart that she had thought it was all in vain now-too many days had gone past for a small child to be out in the woods alone...with _those_ things. And she had hated herself for thinking this. Not knowing what to do, she did the next best thing to ease her conscience, so she had told herself. She had cared for him, cared for his hurts.

Seeing the scars criss-crossing his back, she had had to stifle the gasp that had ballooned up within herself, and for his sake, she showed no reaction, even though inside she had felt like she was crumbling. They were almost the same-she had scars too, both physical and mental, and the surge of compassion...of kinship had risen bitterly within her breast.

He had risked his life...all for a doll.

But, it had been more than that. He had risked his life for the proof that he had so passionately believed that meant that she was still there, still _alive_, and it was more than the others had done. He had believed, even when she had doubted herself.

Yet his voice had still held bitterness, towards her, towards the others in their group. They'd thought him reckless, stupid and impulsive. And as she had seen him, laying on that bed, the rigid angry weal's across his back, she had been completely unable to stop herself telling him that he was as every bit as good as them, the others. And she had been unable to stop herself from planting that one small kiss of gratitude to the side of his head, knowing that as she did that-he would hate it. But he had surprised her, he had looked up at her with his smoldering blue eyes, eyes that she couldn't fathom then, and he had given her a small awkward smile. That moment had changed her, it had given her hope, even after she had seen her daughter stumble out of that barn, dead and gone and as lifeless as leaves in autumn.

Hope.

As the seasons changed, so did they.

* * *

><p>Every death she had counted like stones sitting in her heart, each and every single one pulling her, spiralling her further and further downwards, but he had always been there. Even when the grief lay thick on his shoulders like the tattered feathered wings he wore, he had still borne her upwards. In turn she had shown him how to better himself, coaxed him little by little until he had become the man he was today, and she was <em>proud<em> of him. She loved him, and while she could never tell him, she knew there would be a time when he would have to fly by himself.

She had become as he was once, as she had been before, a long while back. Damaged. She would fight hell and high water for him not to see, for him to remain as untainted as she had now become, as long as he could.

She remembered once, an innocent flower. White petals that now crumbled to ashes in her hand. The weariness in her soul wore her down, and she had bitterly thought that there were only so many times you could possibly rise from those ashes before you burnt yourself out in the flames.

They had stood, night falling heavily and mercifully on a ruined and savaged city, gazing with eyes that had seen too much, witnessed too much. She had told him then that they couldn't save anyone, any more. It was beyond them now. But hope had shone brightly in his eyes, and he had disagreed, but she had thought then that she had known better, and it was better not knowing, not seeing, only feeling the empty ache of her heart.

It wasn't until the car had struck her down, that she had realised that she was wrong, and that she desperately wanted to live. That life would cling precariously to whatever means it could. One silly simple word, one that he had given her a long time ago.

Hope.

Despite the futility of her situation, she clung to that word-to him, and she had fervently prayed that those wings would guide him.

* * *

><p>She remembered later, a world of pain and fear. White sterile walls. Disjointed dreams where reality met nightmares. She thought of her daughter, beautiful and ethereal, forever marked by their desperate lives. She had dreamt of another girl, marred by tragedy, blonde hair billowing, crimson splashing, eyes glazing, and she had wanted to wake from this never ending nightmare.<p>

But she did wake, and that life was far removed from the one she had imagined, the one from her nightmares.

Strong arms were bounded tightly around her, a taut warm presence held her tightly in check. She awoke for what felt was the first time, sensing before seeing, knowing before feeling, the man at her side. His breath was warm against her neck, the steady and reassuring thump of his heart against the softness of her palm. Her eyes slowly opened, and with a shuddering gasp, she breathed as if born again. She felt the weight shift against her, the solidness of him pulling her nearer, almost commanding her. She gazed at him, seeing his eyes flutter open, the brilliance of his blue eyes, the warmth of his smile, the softness of his lips on her cheek, and she knew then that she could rise from those ashes time and time again. As long as he had wings to guide her, she would know of another word.

Love.

And she smiled suddenly, through the hardships that availed them, the sanctuary of his arms had pierced her armour. As long as she had him to fight for, to live for...she knew of that other word.

* * *

><p><em> an: This was a challenge to write, purposely I used no dialogue, nor used any names. I hope the use of the word 'him' in italics comes across all right...also I sincerely hope this little story comes across as okay generally. I won't lie, I am fairly nervous submitting it, lol! Thank you for taking the time out to read this little drabble. _


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